


It was a bounded place

by zinjadu



Series: Wed to Blight [25]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alistair's love of cheese, Almost Kiss, Darkspawn, Deep Roads (Dragon Age), F/M, Orzammar, Orzammar Bashing, Slow Romance, Warden Abilities, Warden senses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-07 09:51:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18870805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinjadu/pseuds/zinjadu
Summary: Caitwyn Tabris has come to Orzammar, and shit promptly gets deeply annoying.  In between running around for the contenders for the throne, Cait tries to figure out who to support.  And then stumbles into a Romantic Moment she didn't expect.Also, buckle up.  The Orzammar/Deep Roads ideas kept coming.  As in the game, we're underground for far longer than anyone wanted to be.  XDBUT!  I can promise moments of romance, action, unexpectedly thoughtful Oghren, a healthy helping of darkspawn horror, and angst.  Because this is Dragon Age.  <3





	It was a bounded place

The doors of Orzammar boomed shut.  Caitwyn stepped carefully down the stone stairs, already covered in a sheen of sweat.  After the crisp, thin air of the Frostbacks the air inside the mountain itself nearly choked her.  It was as if she were in a house where someone had forgotten to open the flue. Her lips thinned, however, when she caught sight of the beggar and how the other dwarves studiously did not notice him.  His ragged clothes and sunken cheeks were a sharp contrast to the impressive statues that lined the entryway into the kingdom of the dwarves.

The hallway was designed to impress.  The beggar’s presence told Caitwyn something else entirely.

“We should not delay here, Warden.”  Sten’s leaden tones were the same as ever, even though she had found the man who had sold on his sword.  She still wasn’t sure if he would have ripped that man’s arms off or not, but thankfully it hadn’t come to that.

Overconfidence, that was her problem.  One little rose, a few dinners sitting next to each other, their hands just touching, and she was quickly forgetting to watch what she said around everyone, not just Alistair.  But at the thought of him, the warmth of his presence bloomed across her back and she couldn’t stop the smile that tried to curve her lips.

“Course not,” she agreed.  Sten hummed, which could mean any number of things or nothing at all.  Caitwyn did not care to puzzle things out just then. She had the help of the mages, and at least Bann Teagan would send _some_ Redcliffe men to their aid.  Their greater hope there was in curing the arl, but they could not risk Denerim yet.  Besides, the dwarves had been the closest, and if she and Alistair secured their help, then, well.  It’d be more warriors to combat the Blight.

To stop the corruption that swam in her veins from choking the land, from consuming her family.

At the far end of the hallway another great set of carved stone doors stood tall and proud.  They swung open with nary a squeal or scrape, and the blast of heat nearly knocked her flat. Then she saw the reason why: magma.  A great channel of it carved its way underneath the arching stone bridge directly across from the doors, and the cavern itself stretched up until it ended in rigid shadows.  The dwarves of Orzammar might never see the sky, but they knew how to create impressive spaces.

Her appreciation for the grandeur of the dwarven kingdom, however, was short lived as a deadly brawl erupted right in front of her eyes.

“Oh, why not?  Sure, let’s just have a dwarven civil war to step into the middle of.  Lovely,” Alistair moaned after the guard captain explained the cause of the fray.  Her fellow Warden’s shoulders slouched forward and his head craned back as if he could raise his eyes to the sky in despair.  Alas, there was no sky.

“Ah, this will be most intriguing.  Perhaps we should gather more information about this Bhelen and Harrowmont, yes?  Whichever of them is the stronger would be the better one to support.”

“I cannot believe that I find myself in agreement with the assassin.”  Morrigan’s yellow eyes narrowed and her lip curled as she regarded the Crow, to which Zevran executed a florid bow.

“My dear witch of the wilds, you might find there is much we could agree upon.”  He raised his eyebrows suggestively at Morrigan, earning him disgusted snort from the woman.

“We should not speak of this in the open,” Leliana suggested.  “We should find a neutral place to stay while we are here. And perhaps Shale should remain there as well?”

“Are you suggesting that I _hide_ from the dwarves?  They have seen golems before, have they not?”

“I think what Leliana means, Shale, is that you might scare the people we need to speak to,” Wynne suggested in a conciliatory tone.  Caitwyn exhaled slowly, forcing her body to stillness. Beside her, there was a shuffle of booted feet on stone, and Alistair stood at ease next to her.  She almost leaned into him without even thinking about it, but swayed back before anyone could notice. Well, almost. His lips stretched in a crooked grin, as if he knew what she had nearly done.

“Bark a bit,” he suggested softly.  He spoke barely above a whisper, but her ears picked up the words without trouble.  “You know they’ll listen.” She nudged him with her shoulder, and he thoughtfully swayed with her so she didn’t rebound off of him like a child’s ball against a brick wall.

“You could.  Was your idea.”

“No, no, no.  They don’t take me seriously, and we all like it that way.”

“Suit yourself.”  Caitwyn stood straight and threw back her shoulders as she stepped forward, putting herself in all their lines of vision.  “Leliana, you and Alistair go see if there’s a place we can stay. Zevran, just… be _you_ at people.  Find some things out for us, will you?  Sten, back him up, but keep out of direct sight.  Shale, Wynne, look at some shops, replenish some of our supplies if you would.  Morrigan, you’re with me.”

They all twitched, as if debating leaping into action, and then Maethor barked peremptorily.

“Oh, right, sorry boy.  You know you’re with me,” she told her dog.  He barked again, happily this time, and wagged his whole rear end.  “Well, let’s go. As Sten pointed out, we shouldn’t waste time.”

Her companions, her friends, all leapt to their ordered tasks without a single word against it.  Morrigan stayed by her side, as did Maethor, but Alistair pivoted on his heel and gave her a lazy, cheerful salute.  Her whole body flushed, warm from the tips of her toes to the top of her head, and she thought her heart might leap out of her chest.

Fingers alighted on her shoulder, and she practically jumped out of her skin.  “What?!”

“I had been merely attempting to capture your attention.  Tis even worse than I feared, if you cannot keep your mind on important matters.”  The casual dersission in Morrigan’s tone stung, but Caitwyn let it fall away from her like she used to with Soris’s complaints.  The more she turned the idea over in her mind, fitting Morrigan in the same category as her cousins made all her barbs and snide remarks slide into place with her occasional bouts of thoughtfulness.  All of those directed at Caitwyn at least.

“ _We_ are going to listen in.”  Caitwyn stretched up on her tiptoes and gleefully eyed the deep, shadowy corners about the city.  Morrigan raised one black brow skeptically.

“I have no doubt that this is a task you could accomplish with ease, but how am I to blend into the background?  No doubt they will notice one such as I, not to mention your dog.”

“I seem to recall you can become a cat,” Caitwyn mused with an air of innocent reflection.  “Or were you just blowing smoke?” Morrigan puffed up like an irate bird.

“Find me a suitable corner to… _change_ , and I shall show you how much _smoke_ I was blowing.”  Caitwyn kept her face carefully blank at the pronouncement, but failed to maintain her composure entirely when Maethor gleefully licked Morrigan after she had become a cat.

 

* * *

 

The oil-slick wriggle of the darkspawn swarmed across her skin; the corruption was _everywhere_.  In the very stone itself, though the dwarves assured her Aeducan Thaig was not so bad as other places further on.  The pulsing, black-worm writhing of the darkspawn themselves was even worse under the ground, worse than fleeing through the horde after Ostagar, worse than the village of Honnleath.  There was no escape, no respite from them or the stain of foulness they brought with them.

But she could shut them out.  Fold her awareness of them away and push it down, down, down into the back of her mind.  They were not _gone_ , but it put the sensations at a distance.  She swallowed heavily and referred once more to the map Lady Dace had provided of the Thaig.  Her father’s party had to be close.

“Just around the next bend, I think.”

“Good, that’ll be good.”  Alistair’s normally bright voice was strangled and tight.  Folding the map away, Caitwyn found his hand, her pinky finger curling around his and tugged, directing his attention to her and away from the Blight’s corruption.  He offered her a grateful if sickly smile and inhaled deeply to steady himself only to jerk upright before falling to his knees in a rocky alcove.

“It is unwell.  Perhaps we should leave it here?”  Shale glowed in the dim light of the Deep Roads, though now it was spattered with the black-red gore of darkspawn.  “It would only slow us down. Do we not have limited time?”

“So much for a Warden’s ability to endure,” Morrigan added pointedly.  Caitwyn ignored witch and golem alike to kneel next to Alistair. She pulled off a glove and placed the back of her hand across his forehead.  He was chilled even though beads of sweat stood out on his pale brow as he clenched his mouth tight against what had to be a roiling stomach.

“Was it something we ate?  Drank?” she asked quietly. Briefly, he tried to open his mouth to speak, but then closed it firmly and shook his head.  “Do we need to go back?” Another head shake, he breathed shallowly and some of his normal color returned to his freckled cheeks.

“I can smell them.  Smell the corruption like its rotten meat _everywhere_ .  Lucky me, that’s how I sense the darkspawn,” he said, a bitter note to his words.  “Duncan said all Wardens sense them differently, but most hear them.” Caitwyn shuffled closer to him on her knees, sparing a glance for Morrigan and Shale.  As long as _she_ stayed put, those two appeared unwilling to leave.  And she would not leave Alistair like this; whatever they were now, they were still Wardens together and that _meant_ something.

“Can you put it away?  I do that, a bit, fold it away, push it to the back of your mind.”  Her fingers brushed at his temple, his hair, and he leaned into the touch.  He needed her, she realized. Needed her to be strong. She could do that. She _would_ do that.

A grimace twisted his features, but he closed his eyes and frowned in concentration.  His jaw clenched and he bent double until his head hit the stone. “Nope. Didn’t work, didn’t work.  Made it worse. Maybe you should go on without me. Probably won’t die.”

“No.”  The word was a declaration.  “I won’t leave you behind like this.  I know it’s hard—”

“Do you hear them?”  His eyes fixed on her face, as if she were the only solid thing in an unstable world.  

“I…”  Her sense of the darkspawn writhed as he called her attention to it once more.  They were seeking, crawling, but she pushed it away. She was very good at pushing things away.  Her voice barely above a whisper, she spoke. “It’s like having worms all over my skin. Or oil. Or both.  They crawl all over me and—”

“That sounds pretty bad.”  He braced himself upright on his hands, but she kept stroking his hair, his forehead.  The chill lingered, but his arms didn’t shake. If he couldn’t block out the darkspawn and their corruption, there had to be something else they could do, some other way around the problem.  If he couldn’t push the darkspawn away, he could focus on something else.

“It is, but you know what’s not?  I can feel you, too. Being near you, it’s like… like being next to a fire, or standing in sunshine.  It’s… really nice.”

“I’m like sunshine to you?”

“Well, yes,” she admitted, shifting uncomfortably.  “But that’s not the point. Focus on me, if you can, not them.  Maybe that’ll help? You won’t get so… overwhelmed.” He winced on the last word, but she had no other way to say it.  Regardless, he shifted closer to her and inhaled deeply once more. A wan smile curved his face, and he caught her eyes with his own.

“It works,” he said softly.  

“Do I even want to know what I smell like?” she teased in a dry tone.  She permitted herself one last brush of her fingertips across his temple before they had to press on ahead.  His wan smile turned wider and became that crooked smile that set her heart to fluttering.

“Like clean, fresh water.  And flowers.” Closing his eyes, his shoulders rose as he filled his lungs once more before regarding her tenderly.  “Lilacs. You smell like springwater and lilacs.”

“Oh.”  Her heart _stopped_.  Heat suffused her cheeks, her ears, and she held herself as still as the stone around them.  

“It’s really nice.”  His smile became a smirk as he echoed her phrase, and there was a bounce back in his voice.  Putting on a frown she jabbed her finger into his ribs making him twist away from her.

“That’s enough from you.”  Her tone was clipped and quick, but she could barely meet his gaze for fear of melting away into nothing.  He hummed thoughtfully, but let it drop, and they hauled themselves to their feet. They rejoined Morrigan and Shale at the next bend where another pack of darkspawn squatted like demonic toads on a rotten log.  

“Are we to return?” Morrigan asked in a whisper.  The woman’s lips twisted in distaste at Alistair. “Perhaps another might not prove himself so ill suited to the task.”  The muscles in Alistair’s jaw jumped, and he stood straight and square.

“He’s got it under control now, Morrigan.  I say we keep going.” Caitwyn met Morrigan’s yellow gaze and stood firm.  The witch sighed and flicked her wrist as if it was no matter to her. “The sooner we find Lord Dace the better.  Shale, if you would?”

The golem gave her what might be a smile in that face of stone, the glow of her mouth curving and her white, baleful eyes narrowing as if in glee.  “Oh yes, I would very much like to. It was most annoying to wait.”

Caitwyn nocked an arrow as Shale charged, Alistair not far behind the golem and targeting the darkspawn mage that began to chant its guttural voice.  She aimed for the mage as well, choking off its casting and giving Alistair time to close the distance and nullify its connection to the Fade. Though her sense of the corruption still oozed across her skin, with Alistair focused on fighting he blazed once more and burned the darkness away.  She hoped that he found something like the same comfort in her.

She also hoped they found Lord Dace soon and left the Deep Roads as quickly as possible.

 

* * *

 

Caitwyn’s head fell into her hands, her whole body curling in on itself as she sat up by herself in the middle of the night in the small sitting area that connected all the rented rooms of the inn.  It wasn’t as though the beds in the rooms above Tapsters were uncomfortable, the exact opposite really. They were too soft, and she’d learned too much about dwarven politics over the last several days to sleep easily anyway.

Documents, some true, some false, were spread out on the table in front of the couch she perched on, and she tried to do her best to examine the _facts_.  But there was no forgetting the beggar in the vaulted entrance hall, the fatalistic despair of Dust Town or the gaunt faces and hollow eyes of the dwarves who lived there.  If living was the right word. Even in the Alienage, she’d had her family, had her people, but in Dust Town, Dusters had only themselves and whatever they could beg, borrow, or steal.

Or kill for.

“Oh, you’re still up.”  Alistair’s jangling voice broke into her thoughts, and she raised her head and scrubbed at her face.  He shifted his weight back and forth and then broke off a piece from the block of cheese he held. Away from the Deep Roads, his appetite had returned in earnest.  “Hungry?”

“Middle of the night cheese?  Really?”

“Well, the woman running the shop _said_ it was cheese.  I’m not sure if it is though, to tell the truth.”

“And yet you still eat it.”

“It’s at least _cheese-like_ , and it doesn’t go through our stores.”  He shrugged and popped the piece in his mouth.  “So, um, take that as a no, you’re not hungry, then?”  

“Hard to be, with all this,” she said, waving her hand over the documents.  The ones she’d found in Jarvia’s hideout had been most telling. Alistair’s normally placid expression shifted suddenly, his brows drawing down and a hard set to his mouth.

“He really did murder his brothers.  Just for power. Are you seriously still considering helping him?  Finding this Paragon and pleading his case?” Caitwyn grimaced at the question, and that was reply enough for Alistair.  His eyes, normally so kind and gentle, narrowed and flickered dangerously. She knew what he saw when he looked at Bhelen: a schemer, a plotter, someone who killed a rightful king to put himself in power.  And yet. Zalidna’s baby had been crying.

“I don’t, I mean, ah, will you just sit?” she asked, words failing her as they had a habit of doing around him.  He sat heavily on the far end of the couch, glaring at the papers as if they were something he wanted to attack. Caitwyn curled her legs up underneath her and crossed her arms over her chest, but kept her focus on those documents.  The sitting room itself was dim, save for the orange-red glow of the lava from the channel opposite the tavern, but it was more than sufficient for her needs. She picked at the tattered maroon upholstery of the couch and tried to collect herself.

“I’ll not argue that Bhelen is a good man, and it didn’t take seeing all that,” she said, gesturing at the papers with her chin, “to tell me that much.  It was in his eyes. You learn a lot about someone when you talk to them, and Bhelen’s as nasty as they come.”

“So… why have we been doing this?  We’ve been running around, playing both sides, Cait!”  Her head whipped around at the shortened version of her name, and it made her heart squeeze to hear it again. She’d not heard it since leaving Denerim.  Alistair, however, turned his gaze resolutely to the floor. “Sorry, Caitwyn, but we can’t support a man like that. We _can’t_.”

“Cait’s fine,” she said softly.  Raising his eyes to meet hers, a blush stained his cheeks and ears, and he worked his broad shoulders as if suddenly uncomfortable.  He ate the rest of his cheese-like food and shifted away from the opposite arm of the couch to lean forward, arms braced on his legs.  “And technically we shouldn’t be supporting _anybody_.  Seem to recall that Wardens are neutral in political matters.”

“Yeah well, I guess good intentions only go so far.”

“And that’s what I’ve been thinking about.  We played both sides so I could met both of them.  Harrowmont is a good person, honorable by dwarven standards, but.”  Her teeth clicked shut, and she couldn’t finish the thought aloud. She had a full belly, she sat in a relatively comfortable room, she breathed clean if overwarm air, but it was too easy to recall the everpresent stench of unwashed bodies, the hard-eyed stares of the broken souls that barely had the will to raise their heads, and the dust.  The choking dust that settled into the chest like a disease.

“But what?  I don’t understand what we’ve been doing all this time if—”

Caitwyn squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head away from him.  Maker above, she had thought he _saw_ , that he understood.  She forced herself to open her eyes and face him square though everything in her cried out to make herself smaller and smaller.  “I don’t know. I really don’t. I wanted to look them both dead in the eye, to get their measure. Bhelen’s ambitious and ruthless, but Harrowmont is _blind_.  Blind to the suffering of his own people.  Blind to the world above. Blind to everything but tradition.  I can’t, I just can’t, alright?”

“Can’t… what?  Cait, I’m not, I mean, you’re right, but.”  He groaned and dug the heels of his palms into his eyes.  “I didn’t mean to bring this up again. I know you’ve had a hard time of it with the others, all of them pushing you one way or another.  But I… I. I don’t know either, I guess. I’m sorry. Just forget it. We should get some sleep anyway. Isn’t that the nice part of us being here?  No watches to keep. Though I’m not sure why Shale insisted on having a room. It doesn’t sleep. Just sits there with those creepy glowing eyes, _staring_ at you.”

As he spoke his voice regained its normal bouncing cadance, and she uncurled bit by bit as he nudged them away from a disagreement.  He favored her with a tentative grin, as if urging her to let it all drop.

She’d never been very good at letting things go, however.

“I can’t support someone who looks at people and sees _nothing_ , Alistair.  That’s what I can’t do, what I won’t do.  Not now, not _ever_.”  Her voice was quiet in the still of the night, or what passed for night underground.  His brows drew together in thought, and that spurred her to keep going. She shuffled closer to him, her knees nearly brushing his leg, and after a jerky hesitation she curled her hands around his larger one.  His fingers clutched at hers, and somehow that made the rest possible. “That’s how humans looked at me, at my family, at my people. I know it's not logical, but—”

“It’s what’s right,” he said quietly as she struggled to finish the thought.  A long, slow exhalation escaped him and his shoulders finally relaxed. “Alright, you’ve convinced me, but I still don’t like it.”

“I don’t much like it either,” she admitted.  Rueful grins flickered across both their faces, and Caitwyn was grateful that of all the Wardens she could have survived with, she had the good fortune to be with the one who would take the time to listen, to understand.

“Oh good, we can not like things together.  Very romantic. I mean!” His voice rose sharply, and he stammered and blushed, and Caitwyn froze suddenly aware of how near she was to him.  And how alone they were. In the night. On a fairly comfortable couch.

She did not let go of his hand, and he slowly stroked his thumb across her knuckles as if he were afraid she would fly away or vanish in a puff of smoke.  Her breathing hitched at his gentle touch, and he licked his lips. The hearth-warmth presence of him stole across her skin. He leaned forward a touch and inhaled deeply.  Their eyes met and flickered down to each other’s lips.

He was so close.

Her mouth parted ever so slightly.  She could manage this. She could. The apple of his throat bobbed as he swallowed heavily, and his breath tickled her cheek.  Their fingers intertwined, and she let herself fall forward and—

The door to the hallway slammed open.  Caitwyn flung herself backwards and pressed herself against the arm of the couch.  Alistair’s mouth gaped open like a fish and his hands gripped his knees with white-knuckled tightness.

“Ah, my friends, you are still awake.  It is rather late, oh. Oh my. I have interrupted something have I not?  My sincerest apologies.” Zevran’s attempt at wide-eyed innocence fell flat, and Caitwyn scrambled to her feet as she gathered up all her papers.

“It’s fine.  Just Warden planning.  Good night, Alistair, Zevran.  See you in the morning.” Turning on her heel, she fled to the room she shared with Morrigan.  She let the door click shut behind her, but even though the door was solid wood she could hear Alistair’s own fumbling, awkward attempt to extricate himself from the Antivan’s questions.  Just her luck Zevran had been out information gathering in his own tomcat sort of way this night instead of being tucked in bed like the rest.

Caitwyn closed her eyes and pressed hand to breast.  It was like she had a hummingbird in there, flapping away for all it was worth but somehow staying perfectly still.  She gripped her shirt and let her lungs fill, her chest rising, and then let out a long, slow breath. He had been so close.  So close.

She didn’t know if that was good or bad.

Opening her eyes to the darkness of the room, Caitwyn tried to see it as a good thing.  They were heading into the Deep Roads tomorrow to find Branka, venturing further than Aeducan Thaig.  The real Deep Roads, the parts held by darkspawn alone. The last thing they needed was a repeat of her behavior at Honnleath.  If his nearness was good, then it didn’t need to be pushed down into the dark with all the things she tried not to think about.

Her secrets were still there, locked away, but no longer did they strain against the bonds she placed around them.  They did not pulse and slither, they did not overspill their confines. They were _quiet_ .  They might finally, finally _go away_ without ever having to be told.  Without ever hurting her ever again.

Yes, she decided as she nudged her dog and made space for herself on the bed, that could only be good.


End file.
